


Bittersweet Snapshots

by Dragoonhazuki



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Dubious Consent, Homosexuality, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragoonhazuki/pseuds/Dragoonhazuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>KiyoHana and HanaKiyo oneshots not necessarily in chronological order may be OOC at times depending on theme or whether they're timeskip and thus with character development in mind. Some NSFW most dubcon and perhaps a few noncon. May contain scenes that readers find uncomfortable or extreme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shag Me, Suck Me, and Tease Me

**Author's Note:**

> Older Hana/Kiyo. Kiyoshi works in an office and Hanamiya also works an office job which he subsequently loathes although he works as a high-positioned manager.

He’d been fairly surprised when his phone had buzzed. Although he wasn't supposed to use it, let alone have it at work he’d kept it in his office cubicle while working. Tucked it under a notepad discretely. Noting the message was from Hanamiya, a video clip, he'd reached for his earphones and had begun to play only to pause seconds later with a deep twist in his gut at the sensual sight that he had been sent for personal pleasure.

No doubt Hanamiya had only done it to inconvenience him, knowing his easily sprung lover would struggle to resist the urges. 

When lunch had come a well-spent ten minutes in the mens stall jacking off had preceded a simply reply of “Cute”. The casual attitude of which he knew would rile up the dark haired man intensely. When he was angry he got oh-so creative in bed and he struggled to deny the fact that he had begun to enjoy the infliction of pain in very, very mild doses. 

One such example was when he'd returned home, barely a minute through the door and the shorter male was calling him a few choice pet names that Teppei had somehow persuaded the other to agree upon not repeating them in public. Then there had been a rough bite to his throat and soft kisses with each removal of a button until lips curved a perfect ‘o’ about his— Oh sweet mother of passing— and sucked until he felt more then a little legless. 

If that wasn't the crowning glory then the illicit mounting was, clawing at the hallway whilst his smaller partner roughly rutted him into the ground following little to no stretching. He would ache like nobody’s business and his gait would match such facts but for now all he was focussed on was trying not to drool profusely as the spider edged him over and over till his balls were aching and he was begging; please, oh mother of god break my knee again just let me come and ohhh the release as phenomenal. The cum that gushed over his lower back was less than desirable, knowing that Hanamiya did it to make him look slutty, used and detestable but pleased in the way his expression smouldered. He had grown to enjoy the sight of Teppei ruined in these small but many ways, the brunette mused as thick brows met in tandem to a frown dipping his lips. 

Now he felt like he'd a bunch of carrots rammed up his ass albeit at the right angle, how was he going to get back up let alone walk? 

…He loved Makoto, the silly sod that he was.


	2. While Your Lips Are Still Red, I Kind Of...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He'd look back on this and regret escaping with his dick in one piece as opposed to his heart.

He was a sick bastard falling for that twisted son of a bitch. He’d dared to confide in Hyuuga not a week ago and had been rewarded with the other challenging his sanity and then recommending he get counseling, or a decent bar of chocolate and drop any notion of getting down and dirty with that knee-breaking fouler.

It wasn't that simple, it never had been and never would be. Every occasion of meeting was met with taunts in exchange for smiles. Insults in return for soft promises of thwarted plans. In one way such talk was not far from pillow talk in any case. He could imagine that Hanamiya was probably quite a terrible, self-centered lover. 

Which made him wonder what had lead to this. He was hardly brave in this area, though he knew no fear in all others. He’d found the others home, knocked nervously and as the door had opened he laughed weakly at the disbelieving string of unrepeatable words and begun to say; “Hanamiya, I kind of… Love…” But he’d been unable to muster the courage. 

"Your swearing but I’m here for a reason. You uh, forgot your phone." No doubt his initial half of the sentence would come across as sarcasm."


	3. Hope It Gives You Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanamiya dies and gifts Kiyoshi with his own-brand style of love in the process.

They had always quarreled over what would happen in different situations. There were their jokes about using each other as a human shield in the case of a hold up and running to leave the other for a kicking bag when it came to being chased in imagined scenarios where they lived on the edge and skipped out on paying for meals in restaurants just because, and to live life on the edge. In reality Hanamiya hadn’t quite succeeded in corrupting Kiyoshi and likely never would succeed pushing him to that point.

That was probably why it had hurt so much when the joking fantasies had become a reality. There was no doubt the mugger had intended to go for him as the more ‘dangerous’ option, yet for some reason Hanamiya had thrown away his bitter words and poisonous devil-may-care attitude to jump forwards. Perhaps he'd intended simply to leave the man as crippled as any of the aces that had dared go head to head with him but now, a knife buried deep in his breast in a manner that was so painfully mocking of a fairytale, he looked pitiful. 

Never mind the fact he was still puffing air from his lungs despite Teppei’s insistence he stay quiet, focus on breathing and wait for the ambulance to arrive. 

A weak, reluctant smile had settled on his lips at the insolent but no less affectionate “Fuck you" which had slipped out in constant challenge to authority and being told what to do and tears had dripped from eyes that pickled just as harshly as his heart did from the others final words when rattled breathing had been silenced in favour of a single, wet gurgle. 

He'd been best friends with the anti depressants since.


End file.
